


Mail Call

by dogeared



Series: Nantucket AU [36]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-04
Updated: 2007-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogeared/pseuds/dogeared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets Rodney's postcard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mail Call

Rodney's standing in front of the refrigerator, investigating meal options (the noon ferry horn's like a lunch bell), and he's just about to yell to John, sprawled in his armchair in the other room, and ask him whether he wants a grilled cheese sandwich, when Cash suddenly scrambles up from his spot on the floor and barks once, and oh, oh _god_ , that's the mailman bark, and it can only mean that the mail's here. That their mailman is down at the bottom of the driveway sorting through their bundle of catalogs and bills, and in spite of his very formidable brain, Rodney can't come up with a single scenario, reasonable or otherwise, where the coffee-stained postcard he handed over at the post office yesterday morning before he could change his mind isn't being shoved into their mailbox right now.

Rodney grips the edge of the counter and says, very loudly, "Oh! I'll just, I'll get it later?"

"Okay," John calls back absently, in the way that means he's not really paying attention at all, and he doesn't even look up from his book, which is good, because it means that he won't see Rodney having a panic attack right here in the kitchen.

Although, really, the bathroom seems like a better place for a nervous breakdown, and Rodney doesn't exactly remember deciding to come upstairs, but here he is, staring at his reflection in the mirror, eyeing his receding hairline critically and wondering if this shirt is really a good color on him, and when he reaches to splash some water on his face, he nearly knocks over the cup with two toothbrushes, John's (blue) and his (green), in it, and oh god, that postcard's just _sitting there_ in the mailbox, Rodney's very own personal telltale albatross, and this is why he wasn't an English major.

He's being a little ridiculous, he knows. What's he going to do, get the mail and hide the postcard before John sees it? He's pretty sure he's seen that sitcom already.

Rodney's heart's beating about three times faster than it normally does, faster even than when he and John do very acrobatic things. He sits on the edge of the tub, just in case he has to bend over and put his head between his knees, and takes deep breaths, and tries to tell himself that he can be brave about this.

When he comes back downstairs and turns the corner, John's standing right there in the little hallway, back to the closed front door, and Rodney doesn't think it's the dim light making the complicated look on his face so hard to decipher.

The rest of the mail's tucked under John's arm, and he's holding the postcard, actually brings it up close to his face and sniffs it, and Rodney wonders whether it smells like doughnuts or coffee or just grease, whether it smells like ink or Rodney's aftershave or the inside of a mail truck. And then John looks up, blinks at Rodney, and he's just _John_ , looking handsome and poleaxed and not at all like he's thinking about the nearest exit, and Rodney remembers why he wrote the postcard in the first place, and why he mailed it here—because this is home, and even without having much to compare it to, he _knows_ they have a good thing going.

"You don't," Rodney starts to say, "I just needed to, you don't have— " _to say anything_ , is how he would have finished, except John's talking over him, and Rodney has to shut up fast to hear him say, so quietly, " _Rodney_ ," to hear him say, "Me too, and just, always, like this, okay?" He's rubbing a thumb hard against the grain of his eyebrow, and he looks desperate for Rodney to understand him, to _believe_ him. And when he says, "You stayed. And I— I can't— " it's easy for Rodney to fill in exactly what John doesn't say: _I can't imagine doing this alone anymore_.

John ducks his head, slides the postcard into his back pocket, and Rodney reaches for him and says, "Me either."


End file.
